Heart of the Moon
by Sasha Moss
Summary: When EarthTribe's deputy, Buzzardtail, takes extreme measures against his leader's wishes, it spells disaster for the forest-dwelling cats of TreeTribe and one unsuspecting kit in the nursery, who's life is turned upside down.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

A single leaf relinquished its post on a magnificent oak, spiralling down to the forest floor, making its final journey as a member of the forest. The sun dipped just below the tree-tops, bathing the golden-amber scenery in a brilliant red hue as the moon rose up to replace its tired companion, returning once again to its silent vigil, watching over the three Tribes as leaf-fall settled in.

The golden leaf flitted between pine and birch, drifting past glorious beech and sapling maple, and finally coming to rest in a small clearing next to a fallen oak, hollow from countless seasons of enduring the elements. Inside the oak, a smoky tom was nudging a claw through stacks of various herbs and berries, his usually vague blue eyes focussed and calculating. 'Watercress, coltsfoot, juniper berries, catnip…' His crisp voice rattled off the names of the invaluable items in front of him. Being the only cat in TreeTribe who truly knew the value of the leaves, especially with the soon onset of leaf-bare, the tom took special care in keeping a well-stocked supply.

With a yawn the tom retracted his claws and padded out of the oak, yawning as he arched his back and stretched. Gathering himself up, he leaped onto the sturdy surface of the tree, sitting with his tail over his paws neatly as he gazed up at the night sky, a habit that he had enjoyed since kit-hood. Skyheart was always known as a dreamer by his tribe, but he had earned their respect tenfold over the few seasons that he had been medicine cat, his connection to their ancestors apparent in almost every action he ever made.

Across the clearing, a light grey tabby emerged from the nursery and, spotting the healer, made his way over to the oak. Settling next to him, his lean muscles rippling beneath his pelt, Stormstar lifted his own blue eyes to the stars. 'What do our ancestors have to share with us tonight, my good friend?' The leader's low mew seemed to float in the air, his words heavy in the crisp dusk of leaf-fall.

His healer blinked slowly without answering, his attention still focused on the moonless sky. The young tom shivered suddenly, a small breeze ruffling his pelt. 'There is unrest across the stream, Stormstar,' he murmered, green eyes mournful. 'This will be a harsh leafbare, for all of the tribes.' The tom stiffened suddenly, his fur bristling, eyes a misty lime rather than the crisp emerald that accompanied the healer. '_The stars will guide the moon home to watch over the forest._'

The leaf-fall wind became harsher as it left the forest, bending stalks of heather on the field of rocks and hills across the river. A dip in the landscape revealed a muddy brown tom pacing violently outside one of many caves, his long tail lashing the ground in frustration as a thin wailing filled the camp, setting all cats on edge. EarthTribe was dealing with too many problems, and the deputy knew it.

Across from the angry tom, a black she-cat with white fleck emerged from the nursery, grim. Duststar, EarthTribe's leader, let out a sigh as the wailing from within the cave continued, it's source a grieving queen. _The stars are not being kind to us this season_, she thought silently, her expression showing nothing to her approaching deputy. Buzzardpelt narrowed his eyes as Duststar faced him, giving him a small nod. The deputy growled softly in frustration. Flicking her tail, Duststar signalled to another she-cat, Nightfeather, and two toms, Dirtclaw and Stonetail. The five cats quickly made their way to the leader's den, another slightly smaller cave that dipped down into the earth.

Buzzardpelt erupted as soon as they had made it into the safety of the den. 'This is a disaster,' he growled, his claws gouging the sandy floor. 'First Heatherstep's kits, now this! Sunpetal's litter are the second this season that we've lost!'

Duststar hissed at the deputy, her eyes revealing the pain she shared with the mourning queen. 'What do you suggest we do, Buzzardpelt? Birchleaf is good, but no healer can bring back the dead!' Nightfeather rested her tail on her friend's shoulders, comforting the distressed leader.

Dirtclaw's low mew broke the silence, 'Heatherstep and Sunpetal still have milk for kits…' He trailed off as the two she-cats glared at him, their blue eyes piercing the brown tabby's yellow.

Nightfeather bristled, the black fur around his shoulders standing on end. 'Are you suggesting that we steal kits?' she hissed, unsheathing her claws and digging them into the sand.

Buzzardpelt stepped in front of Dirtclaw, his amber eyes burning her pelt. 'That's exactly what _we_ are suggesting,' the deputy said coldly.

'That's absurd, Buzardpelt!' Duststar's shocked mew cut in, crackling in the tension like lightning. 'I will not separate a kit from its clan for anything. Not for all of the lives that our ancestors could offer me.' The leader's ice blue eyes glared at the three senior warriors, her decision final. The three toms retreated back into the safety of the hollow, the wind piercing the otherwise silent night above their heads.

Stonetail bristled, his long claws extended as he stalked towards the other two. 'We can't just sit here and do nothing while EarthTribe goes into leaf-bare with no kits. There are barely enough lower's as is!' One such lower, Hawk, made his way into camp with Windheart, his higher, and a small thrush that must have ventured too far out of the forest. The pair dropped their measly catch on the dwindling fresh-kill pile and made their way to their respective dens, hungry. Stonetail growled at the sight of how little prey was available to the clan.

Buzzardpelt couldn't take it anymore. Those mangepelts in TreeTribe had all the prey that StarTribe could offer, and more kits than they knew what to do with. He looked up at his companions, and decided that something had to be done. 'We won't just sit here, then,' he growled, amber eyes gleaming, and he hatched a plan to the other two.


	2. Chapter One

_**Chapter One**_

It was black. Completely and utterly, so dark that she could feel her heartbeat in her veins. Then the images started flashing, thick and fast: a kind tabby face, dark trees, the full moon, and then a yowl of terror and pain. Teeth in her scruff and throbbing pain as she bumped against the chest of whatever cat it was that was carrying her, their harsh scent unfamiliar and unkind. Then heat, so hot and intense that the memory of it burned the mind, and the image of fire seared itself into the dream. Water engulfed her senses; her silver tabby paws flailing in front of her eyes as she tried to claw her way to the surface, her lungs burning from the smoke of the fire. At last her claws scratched bark and she clung onto a clump of sticks and leaves as she drifted down a river, shivering into nothingness.

Moon jolted awake, her emerald eyes wide with fear and her silver and black fur bristling. No matter how many nights the nightmare plagued her mind, she would still relive it each night with the same terror as the first. It was her oldest dream and the only memory she had of her life before the barn. According to Norman, the black and white tom that had found and raised her, she had been washed up on the pebbles of the river at his favourite fishing spot near the barn, with no memory of how she'd gotten there or where'd she come from. All she could remember was her name, which was repeated in her head every-so-often in a soft, gentle voice that she could not place.

A loud snore bounced off the creaking rafters and reached her ears, causing her to become fully alert. Grinning with amusement, Moon looked over at the fat ball of patchy fur curled up next to a stack of hay as Norman, a plump elderly character, swiped at imaginary enemies in his sleep, growling softly at them as he did. With a purr the silver tabby stretched and made her way down to the ground level of the barn and out towards the river.

The sun was just creeping over the horizon as Moon stepped into its refreshing and warm rays, her sleek tabby pelt reflecting the light brilliantly. Half opening her mouth to drink in the scent of the thin layer of trees around the stream's edge, the young she-cat pricked her ears and flattened her lean body to the pebbly shore of the stream as she scented squirrel. Drawing herself carefully, paw by paw, in the direction of the scent, she saw a flash of orange fur as the small creature flitted around the roots of an old willow tree searching for nuts. After a couple more paces, Moon ensured that she was downwind of the creature, once again tasting its scent as it washed over her. Breathing in slowly, she gathered power to her haunches and pounced, judging the distance between herself and her prey perfectly, just as Norman had taught her.

With a purr Moon sat up with her kill in her jaws. Norman's breakfast secure, she placed it in the undergrowth about two fox-lengths from the stream before tasting the air once again for more prey. The scent of starling hit her almost instantly, and she pursued the scent a little too hastily, buoyed on by the success of her previous catch. She was within sight of the little bird when her back-paw overturned a pebble, causing the loud creature to panic. With a rushed leap, Moon managed to catch its wing and bring it to the floor, but not before its screeches filled the stream's shores, causing the rest of the prey to hide in their nests.

_Mouse-brain,_ Moon thought, angrily. _Remember, patience is everything when hunting._ Shaking her head slightly, she dismissed her agitated thoughts. She had caught enough for herself and Norman, and entered the barn just in time to see the elderly cat stretching his plump body as he awoke from his slumber. With a yawn, the patchy tom padded over, swiping his tongue over his lips as he saw the plump squirrel Moon had to offer.

'Moon m'dear, the stars must've sent you too me so that I'd grow old and fat without liftin' a claw!' He purred as he tucked into his meal. 'You usually bring back more…'

Moon twitched her tail in annoyance. 'I didn't get the bird quick enough. For a small catch it was as loud as those field-monsters.' The field-monsters are huge things that hold the no-furs on top of them in new leaf and carry them through the cornfield further up the stream. No-furs are what Norman calls the pinkish creatures that live in the stone nests.

Norman tilted his head sympathetically. 'Y'don't normally `ave any trouble with prey. `Aven't done since y'were no more than a ball o' fluff.' He took another bite of squirrel, reminiscing six moons previous when Moon, no more than one moon old, had washed up on the stream, a soaking ball the size of a large pebble. He narrowed his eyes knowingly as he drifted out of his nostalgia. 'The bad dreams again?'

Moon twitched her ears uncomfortably as she remembered the previous night's torment: the yowl of pain, the fire, her lungs burning as she struggled to break the surface… She shook her head to dispel the nightmare. 'It's been happening more often,' she murmured as she poked at the starling, her appetite gone. 'It's like my past is trying to tell me something, but I just can't figure it out.' She look up at her companion, so much like a father to her. 'I want answers, Norman. I know I do.'

Norman nodded his head slowly, finishing off the squirrel but still looking peckish. Moon shoved the starling across to him, which he readily accepted. After a few bites, he looked back up at the young tabby, seeing the frustration at the mystery wreathed around her past in those deep green depths. He sighed, swallowing the last mouthful of prey. 'M'darling Moon,' he started, his blue eyes looking down at his paws as he kneaded the old floorboards, searching for words. 'Y'know how I see you as the daughter I never `ad, an` raised you as such. Well, I `aven't been entirely honest with you, m`love.' He raised his blue gaze to meet the questioning green. 'When you washed up at the stream all those moons ago…I had an idea where y'might `ave come from…In fact, I'm sure of it now.'

Moon's eyes grew wide, and ears pricked at the news. 'You know what happened to me?'

Norman shook his head, his tail twitching nervously. He hadn't liked keeping secret's from the young cat, but as time went on he it became harder and harder to tell her the truth. 'No, I dunno what `appened t'you on the night that I was blessed to find you, Moon m'darling,' the old cat mewed, his sorry eyes lost in the memory. 'But I remember, buried under that scent of ash, a scent that the stream hadn't washed away from yer fur.' He looked directly at her and got to his paws, leaping to the floor of the barn and beckoning for Moon to do the same. She followed the old tom, desperate to know anything from her past that she could.

Norman sat at the entrance of the old structure that the two called home; it's red paint peeling off in flakes, a testament to time that the old tom had spent within its four enduring walls of dilapidated wood. Moon sat next to him, staring off into the distant view that had greeted her eyes for as long as she could remember; the stream with it's embankment of pebbles and trees; the no-fur cornfields and the field-monsters, awake from their slumber and hard at work, obeying the no-fur's every wish as they hungrily tore across the field's eating everything in their path. The stream carried on, past the fields, in the direction of the sunrise, which had fully risen over the horizon now, and which illuminated the unknown.

Norman sighed and nodded towards the distant horizon, past the hungry field-monsters and their no-fur masters. Norman nodded upriver. 'When I was a young'un, I lived upriver with an old no-fur an' her kits in a stone den.' He nodded at a small trail of smoke coming out of a no-fur den. 'That one up thur, at the end of the cornfield, where the field-monster's come from.' Norman became lost in nostalgia again, his blue eyes misty in an age-old memory. 'She were a kind ol' no-fur, an' took good care o' me, but she were old. When she finally went t'join 'er own ancestors up in the stars, 'er kits took o'er the nest with their kits.' Norman's tail drooped as he continued. 'One of the kits didn't like me, used to sneeze an' cry when I'd walk by. One day, the eldest kit put me in a dark cage made of thin, bouncy wood, with 'oles in it.' Norman shivered, his fur bristling. 'The kit took me upriver to a windy field with lots of rocks, and left me in this cage, an' he ran away with his brothers.' The old cat sighed, looking out at the horizon again. 'I got out of the cage after what seemed to be ages, an' I didn't like it out there. It smelled of so many cats, more than I'd e'er met in me life! I made m'way upstream, quick like, and 'eard the sounds of lots of cats fighting, an' I smelled blood! I crept up onto this ol' boulder, an' looked down into this dip in' the field. There was all the cats I'd been smellin', only there were another smell with 'em this time, more foresty than earthy. Either way, there were so much blood, an' I 'eard one of the dusty smellin' cats yell 'TreeTribe scum' before launchin' `imself at me! He scratched me on the cheek an' shoulders, and chased me away from the fight.' Norman had been becoming increasingly dramatic during his reverie, and by the time he finished he was panting, his eyes alive with the memory of his youth. He gulped in some air before continuing. 'I ran all t'way downstream, past the cornfield, where I knew I wasn't welcome no more, until I found the ol' barn 'ere.' He looked up at the old structure lovingly, resting his tail on the peeling paint. 'In any case, that night that I found you, you smelled of the foresty cats mostly, but with the ash there was some of that dusty cat what attacked me!'

Moon's eyes had grown wide at the story, never knowing that the elder had been farther than the cornfields in his lifetime, and at the news of her heritage she sprang to her paws, taking a step backwards from the old cat she trusted so much. 'So,' she mumbled, trying to find the words to describe her feelings. She took a deep breath, collecting her thoughts. 'So, what you're trying to tell me is that I'm a… a 'Tribe' cat?' Norman nodded vigorously, his blue eyes worried that she might react badly to the news. Moon looked sympathetically at the old cat, knowing the stress this information must have caused him. 'Don't worry, Norman, I'm not mad at you for keeping this to yourself for this long. I'm just glad you've told me.'

Norman let out a long breath of relief, but still kept his eyes glued to the pacing young she-cat. 'What're y'gonna do now, m'dear?' He asked, his voice quavering.

Moon halted, looking directly into his kind but worried eyes. _What are you going to do now_, she thought to herself, realizing that she had the chance to find out where she came from, to finally unveil the mysteries of her past. She blinked warmly at the cat that had raised her, had taught her to hunt and to protect herself from danger. Butting her head on his shoulder, she purred at the elder's worry. 'I'm not going to leave your sorry bones to feed yourself, that's for sure!' Taking a paw-step back, she looked up at the older cat, still larger than herself. Being only the better part of eight moons, Moon was still a young cat and needed the fur ball as much as he needed her. 'No, I'm never going to leave you alone, Norman,' she decided, sitting next to the elder once again as they watched the sun rise further above the horizon, warming the fields and the field-monsters, hard at work.

She could feel the elder's relief as she settled down beside him, but her mind still raced as she computed the information she had just received. _A Tribe cat_, she thought to herself. _Are they really as savage as Norman says? Is that what I am, deep down: a raw, ruthless killing machine, with thoughts only for blood?_ The idea alone was enough to make Moon shiver and push any notion of her past far from her mind until the inevitable nightmare that was to undoubtedly plague her consciousness that night.


End file.
